


Lessons (for when you can't say no)

by NeverComingHome



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverComingHome/pseuds/NeverComingHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s got it wrong (so wrong), but she lets him-trust her that is- because he’s so wide eyed and willing that Annalise can’t help but think, fuck it, we all have to learn sometime, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons (for when you can't say no)

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: d/s elements, some biting, hair pulling, manipulation and mild obedience training, vague spoilers

She tells him to kneel and he does, not because he wants to, because he has to, or even because he needs to; he kneels because he trusts her. He’s got it wrong (so wrong), but she lets him-trust her that is- because he’s so wide eyed and willing that Annalise can’t help but think, _fuck it, we all have to learn sometime, right?_

She places the palm of her hand on the side of his neck, slides it down so that it pushes his shirt out of the way and her nails can dig into the skin of his shoulder. 

“Do you really think the job is worth this?”

“I screwed up, yeah, but I want to be apart of your team, you gave me something I can’t walk away from.”

“What? What did I give you?” Her fingers drag down until only the tips are touching him. He turns his head slightly to look at them.

“Proof that I can be better than the person I set out to be before I walked into your class six months ago.”

“I’ve given you proof that you can be a whole lot worse than that too, honey.”

He nods. “I know, I’m okay with that.”

He shouldn’t be okay with it, he should still be grasping onto the threads of his ethics and dreams instead of resigning himself to corruption. Wes can see Annalise fighting herself in her head, like the night she couldn’t stop touching him as she apologized for something she didn’t fully regret doing. He kisses the side of the fingers still pressed to his shirt, small, equally pressured kisses that coax her out of the haze. She pulls the hand away and replaces it in his hair, kneeling to kiss his already parted lips that were pinched closed seconds before her own met them, yielding to her. When she fists his hair he deepens the kiss, when she eases her hold he softens, and when she straightens back up he rocks forward on his knees to mouth at her skirt. She steps away, leans against her desk and slips out of her heel to thump her foot between his legs.

“Is that for the job or me?”

Wes exhales loudly through his nose, looking up at her with those sad dog eyes of his. “Both.”

She laughs, curling her toes and moving from heel to sole against him until his eyes close and he’s tilting towards her like there’s a thread hooked at the base of his neck. She tells him to take off his shirt and he does, unable to suppress a smile that on any other boy his age would be a smirk when Annalise’s foot pauses at the sight. His hand lifts to wrap around her ankle, pressing it harder against him, but he’s hardly let out a satisfied groan when she jerks out of his grip to tug him up by his hair.

“You don’t touch me, I touch you. You know what I want proof of? That you can show some damn restraint for once.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to close the gap and kiss her, but instead turns it into a, “Yes, professor.” Calling her Keating seems just as wrong as calling her by her first name, but professor works, Annalise can deal with ‘professor’. She ignores his mouth and bites a mark that will shout its presence to anyone who glances at him, stroking down his chest to his stomach to his waistline, but no further. When he’s all but panting she shoves him away and he lands neatly back onto his knees, position slightly more accommodating now that he knows what to expect. 

He listens to her every command, perfectly obedient, until he has himself in hand while she holds his head beneath her skirt. Too quietly he gasps, “Professor, I’m going to…” and doesn’t wait for her permission to stain the rug she bought to replace the one he and his compatriots ruined. He stutters an apology while his head spins, but Annalise only gathers up his clothes and presses them into his arms.

“I’ll ask next time, please, professor. I swear I’ll-“

“There won’t be a next time, Wes, get dressed and get out.”

He stares at the clothes for a long moment, lines forming between his eyebrows and tongue squeezed between his teeth before angrily shaking out his pants and putting them on. “You never said you’d keep me on your team if I did this.”

“I told you all in the beginning that every year I choose new students.”

She’s holding herself to keep from reaching out and she’s not looking at him because then she’d have to see that his disappointment runs deeper than not being able to help her win case after case. She’s got it in her head that she’s just in the after glow of a good lay and all the things she’s feeling for him will disappear the moment he’s left and she’s got it wrong (so wrong), but Wes is too busy thinking _fuck it, I guess I had to learn sometime._


End file.
